


Papers & Planes

by HandsBruised



Category: No Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 01:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsBruised/pseuds/HandsBruised
Summary: Queer Basic Person-Meets-Person-And-Then-The-World-Start-Fucking-Spinning Love Story.This is a story written postcard by postcard, send to people all around the world. If you want a postcard, tweet me at @handsbruised or DM me in the @papersandplanesprojectinstagram. This is obviously free, all I need is your name and address.Once the postcard is received or two weeks after I send it, I post it on the instagram and will add it here.So... Do you want a postcard ?





	Papers & Planes

 

 

**CARD ONE**

 

Sim puts my hand on his stomach, my thumb across his navel. He’s febrile and it shows, his emotions on a tight rope. He plays with my pinkie ring, asks the question he kept for hours or more probably for weeks on end.

« Who gave it to you ?

- I gifted it to myself », I answer and he gives a doubtful chuckle.

« It’s dumb », he says. « It’s a promise ring. »

I instantly regret laying with him. I gifted it to myself is what THEY told me before sliding it to my finger, from their. Before leaving.

 

 

**CARD TWO**

 

But I won’t tell that to Sim. I won’t tell him anything, or maybe I’ll tell him everything, if I’m drunk and sad and desperate. What I will not do is care much. Si my band aid and he knows that, or he should. He’s the overly attached  puppy eyes sex-cuddle-friend that I’m trying to get away with. His fault. He saw me trying to find back the scattered dusty pieces of my broken heart and he thought it was a good idea to come around with his tenderness like soft and fresh cemen, and now we have fuck and instead of feeling, I don’t know, great, well I fell fucked.

 

**CARD THREE**

 

Plus I hate people with short names who go for uselessly shorter nicknames . What’s wrong with plain old Simon ? He gives back my hand, rolls to his side and cowers. I thouch his spine, it’s knotty every vertebrae a lump of secret, bones infused in self-hatred and words he should have say out loud. I was broken, is it my tas know to break you ? Take the pain away, replace it with guilt ? Does the operation add up to a zero in my emotions ? They warn you about STD’s but damn, I swear Hepatitis C is less lethal then THEM.

 

**CARD FOUR**

 

THEY is sitting in the river-facing bench, across the bird-watch park. I call it a river for lack of knowledge, but I think it’s technicaly a part of the cold ocean. THEY is smoking and, worse crime, eating maple-filled cream cookies, but I won’t tell on them. Should need to explain how I know and I don’t want anyone to think, believe or worst, know that when it comes to them, I’m a kind of stalker. Not the dangerous kind, thought. Not about to hunt them down, or with a camera or stuff. Maybe a bit obsessive, but this kind of love is niney percent boredom-fuelled and ten percent tragedy.

 

**CARD FIVE**

  
  
THEY empty the whole cookie box, carefully fold the cordboard and trash it, then picking what seem like random stones, THEY Make an attempt at skimming. That make you look like a caricature of positive masculinity and you must know that, right ? Their gesture look well-studied, like they’re watching themselves wondering «  Do I look good when I fail at ricochets ? » Damn, you’re so stupid yet so pretty. No one can ricochet on the fucking ocean, dumbass. I can hear the story from here. «  Was our running, stopped to skim stones. Yeah, my pa’ teached me back in the days. » What a douche.

 

**CARD SIX**

 

I wish I could get up my own bench, go trade one of their cigarette for my silence. Some « won’t tell if you don’t » conivence that always have the potential to start a flickering romance. But, no. I don’t even hope for them to realise I’m here, and start a quirky-casual discussion about what a coincidence. Take a moment to let L O V E consume me entirely. Theys ay this feeling is like fertilizer ; a right amount make it all bloom, but too muche is toxic. I know where mine lays. Even botling it up feels like suffocation.

 

 

**CARD SEVEN**

 

I met THEM three times for the first time. My mom always says stupid shit like « only one chance to give a good first impression ! » Yeah well, just fall for someone who’s a bit drunk at a time, or everytime, and you can be new every time : They just won’t remember.

Well, I’m not sure. I’ve caught THEM staring now and then. Staring or looking into the void, I’m not sure. But maybe they do, maybe they remember. Maybe it’s just a memory they don’t care about, and I don’t know what’s worse : That the person you love can’t recall the night you had, or that they does but couldn’t care less.

 

**CARD EIGHT**

  
  
The true first time I met THEM was at a comicon thingy and it was quite the bad fanfiction type : I went cause my friend Chris got tickets and I liked the show. I knew nothing about THEM but then they appeared onstage and bim. FUcking mesmerizing. Eyes of gold, sultry voice. Secretive and funny. When it was my turn to get our picture taken, I was shaking so bad. Their silk suit was slightly wet from sweat on the sides, where I had to put my hand for some awkward embrase. For fucking sake, I thought. The way they stared,, frowned, smiled and how when I got my foot stuck in the carpet, they caught me before I fell and said « Damn, close to a catastrophe ». I was down-deep in love.

 

**CARD NINE**

 

Then I forgot. I mean, I rewatched the show from the start, staring at their face and gesture but then what ? Stalk them on twitter and else ? What would that be good for ? So I forgot.

Then years passed, I got into the industry and it had nothing to do with them. Then this guy who was a selling name at the time ended up inviting me for no reason to his birthday party or whatever, and here THEY was. Dead drunk, sunken in the sofa. It felt like a dream. Or not a dream : An out of this world experience from an art installation. Like drowning and stargazing a the same time. Like too muce but not enought. That’s where we met again.

 

**CARD TEN**

 

Happened what happenned that night. Salt from the warm ocean still is stuck in some secret hollows of me nobody figured out. Light of the first morning after, yellow, deep like warm paint, traces like glow-in-the-dark tattoos spreads on my fingers. The ring, obviously. And THEM. Everything about them, including the shitty things they said in the morning.

All of this, all the pieces of our second-first-meeting, I pilud up and kept secret for more yeards. Fragmented story. Until we meet again.

And we did. Last first time, a month ago. I knew THEY would be there. I was terrified and excited to see them. I wondered. But me, us, our night and dreams : They couldn’t replace.

 

**CARD ELEVEN**

 

Since then, I pretend it’s the first time. You loved me once, I don’t know how, I’m not sure why. I just want it again.

We get a car ride together to some extremely cold studio sets in some moutains. THEY sleep most of it but when I turn to look at the snowy steeps, they’re staring. « What ? » but they never answer much, not with me at least. Close eyes again but I can feel the stare later on and I think, maybe I don’t want you to remember. Keep staring, care about me. Let it build itself, I don’t know why, I trust i twill. Maybe because I like my dreams like that, and I’m not mad if I can just stay on the side and watch. Maybe we’re better at one time things, or two times. Let’s wait and see.

 

**CARD TWELVE**

 

We started to pile up a serie of random encounters, all glistering with that quirky, bewitching feeling that I was hoping for. THEM and I at the boat’s bow, watching the deep blue waves from the warm ocean. THEM discretly emptying a whisky mignonette in the coke the hostess gave them, then watching me doing the same with vodka, winking at me.

Me knocking at their door at two in the morning with tea and a box of Tim-Tam, to share while watching the news from our country.

\- You never get tired of all of this ?

They embrace the room but the lifestyle we’re currently living as well, and I gulp down my tea-soppy Tim-Tam.

\- I’m not sure. Are you ?

\- Fucking tired. But If you stop you crash and, well. Call that an option.

THEY munch down on the biscuits, chocolate plastered around their lips, wipe with their sleeve and lay on their back. The news are dully depressive, or the other way round and THEY turn it off without warning.

\- Fuck it. Tell me story instead.

\- A story ? Like what, you want me to tell you jokes ?

\- Why, is your life a joke ?

\- Feels like it sometimes.

THEY doesn’t respond to that and instead, closes their eyes, awaiting. I lay next to THEM, cross my arms behind my neck.

\- Will a story of my love life do ?

\- Will I be in it ?

\- I don’t know yet.

 

**CARD THIRTEEN**

 

I could have tell THEM anything, any story from ancients myths to my chilhood lamest adventures. But instead, I went straight for the prize, the wininng scenario and three minutes later, I am telling them about the second time we met, the one they does not seem to recall. Not mentioning their name nor any recognazible features, I just tell a nameless story like it did not even happened to me.

But it did.

« So this guy out of the blue tells the first guy like, do you want to watch the sunris on the beach ? But I mean, it’s so cliche plus you should never get into the car of a stranger, right ? »

\- But you did anyway.

\- What ?

\- Nothing.

But they are right. I did get in their car.

 

**CARD FOURTEEN**

 

I rush into the end of the story. I know a disaster when I see one and I just made a leading mistake. Do you remember me ? How can you not remember me, you fucking wanker miserable twat ? But they roll on their side, eyes still closed, the hood of their sweater almost hinding them.

\- Do you want to hear a story of mine, then ?

\- Sure.

\- I got my first kiss when I was thirteen, from a guy in my italian class. We all went on some week long field trip to Rome, sleeping in an hostel. The last evening, everybody but me went out for pizzas, and I guess, beers and cigarettes. But I was a lonesome geek and I had this massive and embarassing crush on this guy, who was the nice, quiet but popular kind of jock. I’m on the upper bed bunk reading comics, when he goes back for a sweater. We tchat for a minute then he use the bed rail as a drawbar and stays there, staring at me, holding on his stretched arms and he says, I’ll always remember his tone, confident but soft, gentle, he says, « You need to get closer. »

He pauses for quite a time, until I ask them, what ? and he smiles, dreamily.

\- Then we kissed. A long, wet and slow kiss. We kept it a secret fling for like two weeks, until I realized I wasn’t really into dudes.

\- You just butchered that ending.

\- That’s me. Now, wanna hook up ?

\- No thank you.

\- Then at least spend the night. I don’t like sleeping alone.

 

**CARD FIFTEEN**

 

I woke up way too late considering I’m suppose to work today but I might have had sex with the new. Love of my life this early morning, so I’m not sure I care that much. New love of my life currently laying naked next to me, butt in the air, dark messy hair falling up to their shoulder blades.

I just had sex with a movie star after a stargazing night and before they litteraly gave me their engagment ring. If you can go throigh this without falling in love well, you’re weird.

Their back is one pure block of golden marble. I caress it with my fingers, trace a long line, from butt crack to nape, twining between every vertebrae. When I get to the hair, they turn their face to me, slowly open their eyes, flutter, stare and then say :

\- What’s the fuck are you still doing here ?

 

**CARD SIXTEEN**

 

It akes me a few seconds to understand the whole meaning of what they just said. My hand is still resting on their back, they have to shake it off, srabing their t-shirt from the floor and asking again ; What the fuck. Are you still doing. In my appartment ? And all I think to answer is : « Well, I mean, where else should I be ? » Yesterday I fell in love with their laugh. I had hear the socialite one, fancy and full of teeths, but yesterday eve I discovered the lovely restrained one and I fell in love with it. That and every other thing that I didn’t know. But now they’re laughing at me and it’s another laugh, a mean one and damn, I didn’t realize how infatued I was before one question pourred it down the drain.

One answer as well.

\- Don’t know don’t care. Back in the New Jersey closet you call home. We fucked, now i’ts morning. Please leave.

 

**CARD SEVENTEEN**

 

I stayed dazed too long. Naked on their bed in the worst morning after experience of my entire life. So long they got physical, grabbed my arm and screamed, a tint of hysteria in their tone : « Leave ! »

I realized onlu hours later, while washing them off my skin, that I was still wearing their ring. And because I absolutely adore drama, I kept it to this day.

That’s why it’s easy to understand why as happy as I was to get to bed holding their hand, waking up there is to say the least, terrifying. So terrifying I try to leave before they wake up and realize.

 

**CARD EIGHTEEN**

 

But I fail. I’m halfway through my silent walk to the door when they say in clear voice :

\- You don’t like mornings, or just remembered a super important super early meeting that you have ?

\- I’m sorry.

\- I don’t care.

But everything there sound like they care. I’m still halfway, I recede, back to the bed. Their shirt is tucked up, I caress their back. It’s different. It’s pretty. I want to kiss it. I want to kiss it and stroke it and fuck them. I want to runaway.

I have wanted you for so long that I got use to the feeling of not having you, and the idea of changing this habit terrifies me. Everything fucking terrifies me, including you, my own desires, tomorrow and everything in between.

 

**CARD NINETEEN**

 

I lay back on the bed, my hand massaging all of their back, until they turn on their side and look at me, sleepless-night-eyed, sorrowful and slightly vacant expression.

\- I don’t know what I want.

\- About what ?

\- Job. Social life. Breakfast. You. And don’t highlight the YOU like it’s so surprising you don’t know what to say.

\- I wasn’t about to.

But I was. I would have. I rest my face on their shoulder, we embrace eachother during a few awkward seconds, but then our bodies flide along eachothers and night is back again.

At night, even pretented, we’re better. We don’t speak. We just held together, trust one another.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hesitate to correct my English if need be, one of the point of this is to improve anyway.


End file.
